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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908042">Into The Storm</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22'>QueenOfNewOrleans22</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Lost Boys (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Backstory, Blood Drinking, Drug Use, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Sexual Content, Underage Sex, Vampire Turning</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:08:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,538</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28908042</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before Paul was a Lost Boy, because he was a Vampire, he was a young guitarist in a band who frequently played at the Santa Carla boardwalk. <br/>He was happy, and content with his life. </p><p>Until three vampires and their pesky sire come along, and screw that all up.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Paul/Tim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Into The Storm</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In a blur of golden hair and glittery scarves, Paul was shining like a star in the darkness of the night. His infectious smile was a gift to everybody it was bestowed to, and he was running from one side of the makeshift stage to the other, banging his head in time to the song that was being sung. </p><p>To a mere bystander, Paul would be considered to be the sort of junkie that you didn't want to be associated with because of his unpredictability. He was loud and chaotic and he was always laughing, which tended to put people on edge rather than bring them off of it. Paul didn't always notice that people didn't like him, which made him, on the stage, perfect, because he didn't care what people thought of him. </p><p>Paul was, in essence, the sort of person who just wanted to have fun. He tossed his head back and then brought it back down through the air, all while keeping with the tune of the song. Paul bared his teeth in a grin, swinging the neck of his guitar away from his body, strumming hard on his guitar. </p><p>On the sand below, the small crowd of people were fucking losing it, cheering and yelling and banging their heads, joined together by their love for the music. Paul had always loved how music could join people together and make them forget about their previous diffrences. </p><p>"<em>Ooh, I still believe!" </em>Tim was working his usual magic, looking like he was in his natural habitat as he sucked in a breath of air and then went to work on his saxophone. He swung his hips and closed his eyes. "<em>Ooh, I still believe!" </em></p><p>It was a change from the usual glam and glitter of the rock n' roll bands that rolled through on their way to stardom, but maybe that was part of their risky appeal. A greased up man playing a saxophone was definitely a sight that wasn't usually seen, but that just got peoples' interest up. </p><p>It'd surely gotten Paul's, after all, although that was a given. </p><p>The noise faded away until it was the mere yelling of the crowd, chanting for more, more, more. They wanted more, and they swung their hands in the air and demanded it. </p><p>But it was time to make room for whichever wannabes would come next, so Tim just slung his arm over Paul's shoulder and pulled him along, his torso bumping against the guitar. Paul went along, his boots thumping softly on the wooden planks as he jumped down them and onto the sand, kicking up the dust. </p><p>Tim sighed. He was sweating heavily, and he brushed away his hair from his forehead. "It's nice, to see them so happy." He said, voice slightly hoarse from the singing, but he was smiling, lips stretched wide on his face with burning approval for how the show had went. </p><p>"Whatever you say." Jenny said, coming up behind him without so much as a quick warning. She snapped her gum loudly, as if to voice her silent disapproval, which shined brightly in her dark eyes. "But you need to stop skimping around with the cash. Rod's 'stick broke and hit me in the head." She looked over her shoulder and glared pointedly. </p><p>Rodney scowled. "That's not my fault!" He said sharply, holding up the drumstick that'd broken in half. It was sharp, and he jabbed it in the air towards a passing girl, who shrieked and dodged away to avoid being stabbed. </p><p>"If you can't imagine, playing on a boardwalk in Santa Carla doesn't bring in much money." Tim said, calm as ever. He squeezed Paul and then let go. "But it's the best we can do for now." He added after a moment, walking ahead toward the van, which was parked near the sidewalk. </p><p>Sympathetic, Paul jogged over and opened the back doors. "Well, it's fun." He said cheerfully, lifting the guitar up and over his head and setting it carefully back in its case. It was his one pride and joy, and he loathed for it to be ruined. "So isn't that enough?" He asked, although it wasn't much of an actual question. </p><p>"Not everything is fun and games, Paul." Jenny said in a snide voice, coming up beside him so she could set her bass in its own case.</p><p>Paul smiled. "That pink hair is misleading, babe. You're not very nice." He replied. </p><p>Flipping her middle finger up, Jenny slammed the case closed and latched it shut before propping it back up. She rolled her eyes. "Don't call me that." She said in a quieter tone, but it still held the sharpness of a threat. </p><p>The tension in the air was broken when Rodney went jogging past. "I get shotgun!" He yelled, taking advantage of the fact that the drum kit he'd been using wasn't actually his, and thus remained at the makeshift stage to be used by the next band. </p><p>A split second later, the passenger door opened and then slammed shut with a pointed smugness that went with being the only person who didn't have equipment to put safely away. </p><p>Tim appeared. "I don't think he's realized yet that he just sat down on his lunch from yesterday." He said with a mischievous little smirk, one that lit up his eyes and seemed to drown away whatever tension had been left over. </p><p>That was Tim's specialty, always being there to make the bad go away, like it'd never been there in the first place. He jumped into the back and grabbed his case from where it was tucked behind one of the seats. </p><p>"Who's driving?" Paul asked, looking between Jenny and Tim, bouncing on the balls of his feet with that distinct chaos in his eyes. A small grin began to creep up on his lips as an answer dissolved into silence. </p><p>"Ah, no." Jenny held up her hand. "You nearly killed all of us the last time we let you drive, Blondie." She said. </p><p>Without arguing, Tim retrieved the keys from his pocket and tossed them. "I don't feel like dying tonight." He said with a cheeky grin. </p><p>"Okay, you know what? Fuck you." Paul said. "I'm not that bad of a driver." He tossed his hair and walked away, but then, suddenly, he stopped. </p><p>In the darkness, nothing could be seen. The wind howled like a lone wolf, and a shiver creeped up Paul's spine. He frowned, pausing in the middle of the road as he looked around, squinting to see as the feeling of being watched suddenly made itself very clear. </p><p>The only people that could be seen were back on the beach, listening as a man screamed out the lyrics and drowned out the sound of the crashing waves, but there was, suddenly, a bad, cold feeling in Paul's stomach. He shivered, and the idea of being there for a moment longer made him feel terrified. </p><p>Paul didn't easily get scared, but suddenly, he could feel his heart doing somersaults against his ribcage. He reached behind himself with his hands and the van felt cold against his fingertips. </p><p>Suddenly, there were footsteps, and hands against Paul's arms. Paul uttered a thin, strangled scream, recoiling backwards but it was just Tim, his face wrought with confusion and worry. </p><p>The emotions were unfamiliar. "Hey, Paulie. Are you okay?" Tim asked. </p><p>Paul struggled for a proper answer. He felt a heavy lump in his throat, and it was hard to breath. "Yeah. I'm fine." Paul struggled for a minute, and then he forced himself to plaster a smile in place of his scared frown. "Awww, were you <em>concerned </em>for me?" He said. </p><p>"You were just...standing there." Tim replied, squeezing Paul's shoulder. "You're pale, like you've seen a ghost." He added </p><p>Unable to tell Tim that he felt like he'd sensed them, Paul just grinned and shrugged. "Nope. Just you." He grabbed Tim's hand, and it seemed to squash his own in terms of size. Paul leaned toward Tim and hoped to all God that the other man's warmth would drive away the chill in his bones. </p><p>Tim hesitated, but then he smiled back. "Oh, just get in there." He said in a lighter tone, shoving Paul towards the van, but the smile didn't seem genuine. </p><p>A lot of people assumed that Paul was dumb. Maybe it was his natural, innate cheerfulness and the rather flighty look in his eyes. Or maybe it was just because he didn't seem <em>all there, </em>not in the sense that he should've been. But Paul wasn't dumb. In fact, to the people who knew him, Paul was considered to be smart - too smart, to be honest. </p><p>If you wouldn't asked his band mates, they would've readily told anybody that would listen that they thought that Paul sometimes pretended to be dumb so that he could gain peoples' trust, but, after a moment of thought, they would wave the words away and dismiss them. </p><p>After all, Paul was sweet. Paul was gentle. He had scars on his back and there was a certain weariness to his placid eyes, but Paul was Paul, and there was nothing more to him.</p>
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